Hana Hou, Pt 2
by metameric1
Summary: set in the same AU as Hana Hou. Daria's adventures in Hawaii continue as she settles in to a lifestyle different from the one she's known.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: okay, okay. I know I said that Hana Hou was complete, so let's just say it is. I think it's okay as it is, even with a lot of things left unexplained. I'm not saying that I'll satisfy anyone with explanation that plays by the rules of our universe- some mysteries are needed, after all. I'm just claiming that this story is kind of a sequel of sorts, based on the post-canon AU created in Hana Hou; and yeah, I know I need to finish other stories that I started. I will, honest.**

 **So anyway, Daria and canon characters are the intellectual property of MTV/Viacom or whomever has acquired ownership thereof. This is a work of fanfiction, strictly for fun and enjoyment, and nothing of any value has been exchanged in its creation. Especially _money. Sheesh._**

 _ **Hana Hou, Pt. 2**_

Daria gingerly escaped from the thing Jane called her car, wondering if she had lost any fillings along the way. _Ah, solid ground._ She finger combed her ratted hair, now understanding why Jane and Kimmy had both put on pairs of oversize sunglasses and loose, Rasta-style knit caps.

She waited until the other two had dug their stuff out of the rear cargo crate, and pulled out her phone to snap a picture. "Lean up against the beast," she instructed.

"No way, I'm clean," giggled Kimmy.

"Hey, don't diss the turtle," smiled Jane. She patted her rusty WWII surplus jeep, complete with dented gas cans and a shovel bungeed to the side. Daria was sure that the shovel was needed, judging from the scrapes and dents and mud along the jeep's flanks. "You'd be amazed where this thing can go. Some of the best places are where the dang tourists can't reach."

"And no windshield to get in the way of the view," Daria smirked.

"It's just kinda stuck down in the folded position," said Jane, waving as Kimmy walked off to join her friends.

"See you guys at home," the girl smiled. "I'll get a ride. I have band practice."

The two women headed for the school office. "Nice that the local schools don't skimp on Arts programs," Daria noted.

"What makes you think you're getting _paid?"_

"Do I have to buy the pencils too?"

"I buy the pencils. You get to buy the erasers." They pushed through the doors and were waved towards the Principal's office.

"Morning, ladies," smiled an older woman as they walked past, seated at a desk across from an unhappy looking student.

Daria returned the greeting, noticing her latest novel on the desk, under a bag lunch- as well as two of her less dignified, somewhat racy romances (written under a pseudonym, of course) in a tray on the desktop. She shot Jane a look.

"Those were confiscated," Jane whispered gleefully. "They can be quite the engaging distraction. She doesn't know, and won't if you buy pizza next time we're in town."

"Done," sighed Daria.

They stepped into a modest, but airy and bright office. A somewhat portly, smiling gentleman stood, as did a younger woman with an iPad in hand. He was neatly dressed in slacks and a rather colorful Aloha shirt, while the woman was more conservatively attired for business.

"You must be Ms. Morgendorffer," he boomed genially. "My name is Edward Kahele, and this is Ms. Pualani Morse, from the _Garden Island_ newspaper. Ms. Carla Fernandez, who heads the Language Arts department here, will be joining us shortly in the lounge and staff room as soon as homeroom matters are attended to."

"Morning, Ed, Pua," nodded Jane.

Pualani held out a hand. "I swear, Ed, you guys are the luckiest school in the state. Ms. Morgendorffer-"

"Daria, please. Ms. Morgendorffer is my mother."

"Daria, both you and Jane here are quite the luminaries in your fields! I hope to help Ed here to get the students here to appreciate just how lucky they are to have you both as Artists in Residence."

Jane smiled. "I can't wait to see how the kids fare under the reign of Her Majesty the Grammar Queen."

Ed sat on the edge of his desk, indicating chairs set along the wall. "I've made sure that Ms. Fernadez knows that the selection criteria for participation will be of a very high standard."

Daria took a seat, moving it closer and turning it towards the desk. Jane simply nodded to her. "Gotta make sure the kids don't make my teaching assistant cry." With that, she headed out the door.

Pua simply shook her head, a smile at the corners of her mouth. "Your friend is quite a character. The kids love her, even though she pushes them to the limit."

Ed nodded. "She's gotten some amazing work out of them." He and Pualani exchanged a glance. "I believe that this session will prove to be an interesting challenge for you, Daria."

"I've gone through the selected work that Ms. Fernandez has sent me," Daria said simply. "I do have some concerns."

Ed nodded, glancing at the clock. "Carla should be ready to join us soon. Let's wait until she arrives, shall we?" He led them out into the hallway. Fragments of casual conversation and soft laughter among the staff were audible as they headed for the Teacher's lounge. The heavy Pidgen English accent seemed to be almost universal, emerging effortlessly as the need for formality and professionalism eased between coworkers. The aromas of coffee and freshly baked sweet rolls greeted them as they entered the room.

Carla Fernandez was a woman with considerable command presence. She arrived in the teacher's staffroom moments after the trio had filled their coffee cups, making a beeline for Daria. Her hair was pulled back in a rather severe bun, which made her look somewhat older and perhaps a bit more tightly wound than she otherwise would. She seemed a bit frazzled around the edges, not a good sign so early in the school day.

She grasped Daria's hand with a slightly damp but assertive grip. "Pleased to meet you, Doctor Morgendorffer," Noticing the expression on Ed's face, she smiled at him. "What, you nevah know?" Carla laughed, making no effort to tone down the Pidgen English. "She one Doctah! Eh, slap yo'head! You supposed to know dis kine stuff, yeah?" She looked at Daria to catch her reaction.

Daria tried hard to maintain her patented deadpan expression, but instead broke into a smile. "Whatevahs," she said with perfect inflection. "No baddah me." _Thanks for the coaching, Kimmy._

Pua and Ed cracked up. Carla smiled. "A sense of humor. Good, you're going to need it."

Daria decided that she liked Carla.

Ed spoke up. "Doctor Morgendorf-" he paused momentarily as Daria held up a finger, wagging it slightly. "Daria," he corrected, "you mentioned that you had some concerns about the samples of work that Carla had gathered for you."

"Yes, they were quite competent. Carla, your staff has done good work in bringing at least the student group represented in your samples to national educational standards."

Ed seemed puzzled by this. "I thought you felt the work was not up to your expectations."

"I didn't say that. I said that I had concerns." Daria looked at Carla. "I expect to learn as much or more than I manage to teach these kids," she said simply. "As a written medium, Hawaiian Creole English doesn't work well, which is not uncommon for _any_ Creole. It is, as it naturally evolved to be, a purely spoken medium. Still, I suspect that bilingual writers can turn that cognitive flexibility into an expressive sensibility. I'd like to see if that's true, and if so, I'd like to better understand how it's done."

"Bilingual?" Ed responded after a moment. "So you consider Pidgen to be a real language?"

"I do," Daria said, wondering why this would come as a surprise. "Kids here are fluent in Hawaiian 'Pidgen English', which has all of the linguistic characteristics of any language. They learn and speak 'Standard American English' here in school and wherever a certain amount of decorum is required. They _are_ bilingual. I'd like to include students which may not reach high standards in English proficiency but also show a creative ability, which is more likely to be in some form of poetry, music, visual arts or some form of multimedia."

Pua and Carla smiled broadly. Ed seemed more reticent, and stood with his right hand curled over his lips, his left hand grasping his right elbow.

Daria smirked. "Don't worry, Ed, I'll make sure the kids bring _honor and glory_ to your school."

* * *

"Daria," Kimmy said quietly as she waved to her friends who had dropped her off at home, "Does it make you feel badly if I don't call you mom?"

"Not at all. The longer I know you the more you feel like a daughter to me, but I'm not trying to take your mother's place." She looked at the girl softly. "I call you Kimmy because that's who you are. Kimmy, the smart young lady who I like more and more every day. The girl I'm falling in love with. Are you gonna get mad if I slip and call you my daughter?"

She smiled shyly. "No. I don't want to call you my Daddy's girlfriend, because you're more than that. Auntie Jane is my Auntie, and I kind of thought of you as another Auntie, but that's not quite right, and …oh, I don't know anymore."

"It's okay if you just call me Daria." It's who I am. And I know I'm more than just Daria, because you sound a little bit happier when you say it. Good enough for me."

"Okay." She reached over and gave Daria a little sideways hug. "Daria, why are you smiling?"

"I just thought of a cartoon I saw somewhere, of dogs greeting each other around a fire hydrant. They're all standing around like humans, and one of them is introducing himself formally instead of just sniffing dog butts."

"…And he's saying, _'I am called Rex, the Soiler of Carpets_!" Kimmy laughed, reaching gently for Daria's glasses. Putting them on, she lifted her chin royally and said 'I am called Daria, the Healer of Hearts." She carefully handed Daria her glasses back. "I guess just Daria will do. If you and Daddy get married, I'll promote you to mom. I'll have two." She turned to go help her father in the kitchen.

Daria stood like a deer in headlights, looking at the two of them. She could see the natural physical grace that Trent had in Kimmy, who looked like a slightly taller version of herself at that age. Prettier, though, with that beautiful straight hair that hung down to the middle of her back. It was almost a blue-black, like silk. It made Daria want to grow her own hair out again; she had cut it shorter during college, as it required less effort to keep up. Sometimes Kimmy sat for her, letting her brush her hair. It was odd how the simple contact, mostly in silence, soothed them both.

 _Damn, I must be allergic to something around here._

She wiped the moisture from her eyes and tried to focus on the stack of her student's work that she had gathered that afternoon.

* * *

"You're gonna let your mom stay there?"

"I'd rather let her use my place rather than sell it or rent it out. Besides, she's supposed to keep my bedroom clear for when we stay there. Not just Mom, but Quinn and her family, and my Aunt Amy whenever they need to be in Boston."

"Helen may as well move to Boston permanently, with the way she likes it there. Why does she still have that big house in Lawndale anyway?"

"Retirement just gives her license to randomly show up at work and torture the younger Partners and Associates. That, and I think she's kind of attached to that house…Quinn's kids accidentally scattered Dad's ashes in the back yard."

"Oh yeah," Jane laughed. "I forgot about that. I don't think you guys should tell the kids. I'm sure that the big jar of powdery stuff on the mantle did kinda sorta look like rose bush aphid killer."

"Well, the ashes were in a plastic peanut butter jar. Figures Dad liked the idea of 'sticking it to the man' by recycling a Skippy jar instead of paying five grand for a tacky gold painted metal box."

"I guess I should call Rupert at my gallery and have him come pick up my paintings and crap. I'm sure a lot of my stuff will freak your Mom out."

"It's not _crap_ ," defended Daria. "It's from another time in your life. But I'm really attached to quite a few pieces, some of which I'm not clear on weather or not you actually gave them to me."

"So we'll have him go through the stuff on a video call and have the keepers left alone. And if you liked it, it was yours and you know it."

"Thank you. And the next time I create another sexy Jane-inspired heroine for one of my housewife porn romances I'll be sure to give her much bigger boobs."

"Goodie, backaches," Jane smirked. "Make sure I get to suffocate some bad guys."

* * *

 _Dear Mom,_

 _I miss you, and wish you were still here._

 _I know you still are in a lot of ways, but you know what I mean._

 _Daria says I just have to look in a mirror to see you. Daddy says I look a lot like you._

 _I hope you don't mind that I sometimes call Daria Mom. She makes Daddy happy like you did, and I know she really loves him. She loves me too, and yeah, me too. You know what I mean._

 _Oh, ok, I love Daria too. Even though they haven't talked about getting married, she still worries about me like you did._

 _Do. Oh, I don't know. Sometimes I think you live in her in some way, or maybe I'm just projecting, just wishing that it's true. I don't like the idea that she's replacing you. That's something that Daria says she doesn't want to do, but maybe it's not something that she has any real control over._

 _Am I betraying you? I hope not. We still have your picture that Auntie Jane did, framed in the living room where we all see it every day. Daria made the frame herself and asked me to decide where I wanted to hang it. At first I put it in my room, but she told me that Daddy pokes his head in to look at it sometimes._

 _I have to admit that I kind of thought that it would hurt Daria's feelings to see him looking at your picture, but she says it's natural, because you and Daddy loved each other, and if you guys hadn't met, I wouldn't be here._

 _Daria's kinda weird, but in a good way. I'm glad she's here._

 _I love you, Mom. Always will._

 _-Kimmy_

The girl capped her pen and closed her journal. Tucking it carefully into her desk drawer, she leaned back in her chair and yawned.

It was late. Everyone else was asleep; even Auntie Jane's studio was dark.

Turning off her desk lamp, she sat in the dark for a few minutes before climbing into her bed.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hana Hou Pt.2**_

 _ **Chapter 2**_

The big Zodiac inflatable boat slammed into the crest of the wave, going airborne for a moment before dropping hard into the trough. Kyle rode the floor like a surfboard, throttling the twin two hundred horsepower Mercury outboards carefully to pace the face of the wave now rising just behind them.

Daria turned from the sparkling, translucent wall of water, eyes widening as she took in the black rock wall that rose from the ocean in front of them. They were heading straight for it, and it was only yards away and closing fast. The waves ahead of them broke hard against the jagged volcanic rock, turquoise flashing into white foam with a crashing roar audible even over the rumble of the outboard motors.

Suddenly, the bow tilted as Kyle cut the boat hard to starboard, the stern lifting as the swell began to pick them up.

 _Holy crap, we're gonna flip-_

Suddenly the water level dropped below them as a low sea cave opening swallowed them, the motors snarling to redline as the Zodiac shot into the gloom. She could hear screaming around her, and it occurred to her that the loudest voice was her own. She twisted her gloved fists hard around the grip rope that ran around the sides, tucking her legs up to hold herself down to the bench seat. It seemed like forever as they rode through the darkness; she could feel her breathing start to slow slightly as the rock walls around them began to sparkle as they approached what looked like the end of the tunnel.

Kyle began to ease up on the throttle as the force of the water pushed them along. suddenly, without warning, the water around them flashed into a lighter blue as they broke out into a vast, cathedral-like chamber that opened to the sky. White foam and crystal waters reflected the deep blue sky, rimmed by black stone walls all around-it was so shockingly beautiful that Daria had forgotten how terrified she had been just moments ago.

The northern _Na Pali_ coastline of Kauai was sheer, ragged volcanic stone and pounding seas, without beaches except for tiny hidden areas where some sand had managed to accumulate. The only other way to experience this part of the island was by hiking in, and even then you couldn't easily scale the sheer cliffs to reach the water. Helicopters let you see the scenery from a safe distance, but it was only by approaching on the water could you truly experience and appreciate the natural power that had shaped the islands.

The Na Pali Zodiac tour was admittedly a bit of a white-knuckle adventure, but definitely a rush. Daria was pleased to note that the grotto featured a much larger opening through another portion of the wall that had been cut though by the sea, which would make for a much more relaxing ride later.

* * *

"I'm beginning to understand why you never moved back to Boston," Daria sighed as she sat on the hood of Jane's jeep. "That was just unbelievable." She turned off the waterproof camera that Trent had insisted she take along. He had arranged the little excursion for her since he was stuck finishing up a project. He had a final mix to do at a studio back in Kapaa, and would be meeting them back in Hanalei at a party that had been agreed upon spontaneously that morning.

Jane smiled as she watched Kyle checking the gas tanks that fed the huge Mercury outboard motors at the stern of the big inflatable boat. The last of the tourists had made their way back to their van, chattering excitedly and laughing, the adrenaline levels still high in their systems.

"Honestly, I thought we were gonna die. It feels so good to still be alive," Daria grinned. _I think I'm gonna ball your brother's brains out tonight._

The two women watched as the Zodiac was being loaded onto its trailer. Jane slid off the jeep and walked over to a spooled water hose, dragging it off down the launch ramp. "Hey, Amiga, can you turn on the water?" _Jeez, Daria, did you really pick that bikini out on your own? You're finally getting a little tan on that pasty white but cute ass of yours._

Daria stepped over to the faucet and twisted it fully open so Jane could start hosing off the salt water from the craft. After a few minutes of that, she turned the hose over to Kyle so that he could flush out the motors, but not before hosing off his backside when he stupidly turned his back on her.

"Quit checking her out, you _pig,"_ Jane laughed as Kyle grinned sheepishly.

Daria smiled as she watched the playful water fight.

 _Yeah, no wonder you didn't want to come back to a miserable Boston winter when you could be warm and cozy over here. And I'm sure Kyle might have had something to do with it._

* * *

Trent walked over, flashing her a smile as she pulled up to the beachfront house. "Not bad," he laughed as Daria managed a reasonable job of parking Jane's old Jeep. Cars were everywhere, and she had managed to shoehorn it into a pie shaped gap under a _hala_ tree. "Been waiting for you. Everybody's out back."

Jane would be by eventually, likely with Kyle in tow. He had needed her help with 'something,' and Daria had gone on ahead with the Jeep.

The murmur of the impromptu gathering swelled as they rounded the corner, hand in hand. The sound of a guitar and at least a couple of ukuleles mixed with amiable conversation and laughter. No particular reason had been needed for friends to get together and hang out.

The fragrance of the ubiquitous plumeria flowers that grew all around complimented the usual tantalizing mix of aromas that drifted over from a wood picnic table, covered with foods and delicacies that reflected the cultural blend of the islands. Hawaiian, Japanese, Filipino, Chinese, Portuguese and a few that Daria wasn't sure about. She'd promised that she would at least sample everything, to expand her horizons, as long as Trent was willing to at least flag the items she should probably not like. She was pretty sure that every culture had some food that she'd be happy to be deprived of, like the _haggis_ she'd tried in Scotland, or the _pickled pig's feet_ that she had after a couple too many drinks in a Boston bar.

Having some basic training with her dad's extreme cooking, she wasn't as food-xenophobic as some people she had met over the years. There was that one weird guy that had mentioned surviving a month in Taipei, Taiwan on an assignment, eating only at McDonald's. He never once tried any Chinese food.

Finding herself holding a paper plate, she followed Trent over to the food, rolling her eyes as he began loading his plate. She'd never figured out where that guy put his food, as skinny as he was. Still, she smiled as she began to take some modest portions of foods she'd never think she would like. _Oh, Mits made poki again! Four kinds, too._ She carefully spooned small amounts of each style next to her steamed rice. She wondered if Quinn would try cubes of fresh caught raw ahi tuna, mixed with soy sauce, onions, chili, and a range of variants-miso, fresh local seaweed, chopped kukui nuts, roasted sesame...

"Look at you," Mavis laughed, taking the spoon from her. "No shame! Mits made plenty!" She proceeded to pile it on Daria's plate. Her husband's _poki_ was famous, and Daria's weakness for it was well known. She'd been helping their daughter Kuulei with her poetry, and escaping her parent's hospitality and favor was not possible.

A woman that Daria had seen once or twice before flashed them a smile, getting up off the cooler she had been sitting on.

"Hey, Haunani," Trent greeted, as she reached into the cooler.

"You like that damn Hipster beer, right?" she laughed, pulling out a bottle of _Racer 5._ Turning to Daria, she pursed her lips for a moment, and pulled out a bottle of _Kona Longboard._ "Tourist beer," she smirked. "Okay, just kidding. What kind would you like?"

"Haunani's one of the bartenders at the shack," Trent murmured. "She'll hand you the same thing next time she sees you." He touched her elbow. "This is-"

"Daria, right?" Haunani grinned. "Heard about this pretty Haole _wahine_ that has Trent wrapped tight around her little finger." She gave Daria a little hug, which she gamely returned. "Boston girl, right? Bet you're tired of _Sam Adams."_ She handed her another bottle of _Racer 5._ "Strong and a little bitter."

"Perfect," smiled Daria, accepting the frosty bottle.

"That better not be the last one," Jane laughed, eyeing Daria's beer. She and Kyle were each carrying a box filled with food. Daria peeked in the box, delighted to see that Jane was carrying a whole _Haupia_ cake.

"More in that cooler over there, by the table," Trent pointed. "Brought a case."

"Didn't expect you to show up so soon," smirked Daria, as she claimed her dessert before it even made it to the table.

"Just had to pick up the food," Jane said casually. Leaning in, she dropped her voice. "But don't wait up for me tonight."

"Kimmy's going to an overnight band campout after the party," Daria said evenly. Only Jane and Trent would have noticed and understood the very slight curve to the corners of her mouth.

Glancing around, she noticed Trent gazing back in the direction of the two-lane road that lay just beyond the line of coconut palms. He nodded to someone, raising the bottle in his hand in invitation.

Turning and stepping alongside him, Daria looked up the slight grade.

 _There's no one there._

 _Maybe whomever it was stepped away, towards the other side of the road._

"Someone you know?"

Startled, Trent turned to her and smiled. He put his arm around her waist. "I don't know." He turned back to scan the roadside on the other side of the trees. He raised an eyebrow, as if puzzled. "Seemed kinda familiar but I couldn't place him."

He fell silent for a moment, wondering if he had imagined the glimpse of the old man, who he could have sworn had nodded at him, approving of the woman who he was hanging around with.

 _A/N: okay, fair warning. The Na Pali Zodiac tours are not for the faint of heart. Not quite as extreme as whitewater rafting, but it's not an easy cruise with a paper umbrella kinda drink in your hand. Sometimes the ocean is pretty rough out there and if you get seasick, don't do this. There are inner tube expeditions down irrigation canals that are a lot of fun, and these are much milder._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Hana Hou 2**_

 _ **Chapt. 3**_

 _Truth lay folded before emergence, like the wings of a Monarch butterfly within the tissue-thin walls of a blackening cocoon. The transition from jade green flecked with gold to an ominous black came days before the rebirth, something that held a deep truth she could not yet understand. It seemed to cross a threshold of sorts, one that could be easily mistaken for death but would in time be revealed to be anything but the end. There was a lesson here, somewhere, that transcended any language that she knew of._

 _Rules were at play here, an order that could not be revealed because it surpassed her ability to understand. Years ago, that would have frustrated or even angered her, but now she knew better. What she understood of the universe around her constituted just a splinter of a greater truth, and it could never be more than that._

 _Folded tight, closed off to her. It took a long time to move beyond that realization to acceptance._

 _She looked across the sand and watched the teenage girl moving along the water's edge, sensing the connection with her that had only grown stronger since their first meeting._

 _The sand on which Kimmy moved was real, as was the ocean beyond her. The water, though, was more than matter that simply existed; it was also a medium of force, time, and rhythm. She could not understand what lay beneath the surface; how it was that she had come to sense a very real connection, as though she herself had given birth to the daughter that Kimmy had become._

 _Breathing. The cycle of days, of nights, of human lives. We exist as matter and as medium. And matter-_

"Penny for your thoughts."

The cherished voice swept the tint of melancholy away. "Don't know if they're worth even that," she murmured. "Just wondering about stuff."

His hand was warm around hers, noticeable now that the sun sat low on the water. He waited patiently, as was his way, for her to elaborate.

"I know Kimmy is Emma's daughter, and yet I don't think I could love her any more than if she were my own. I don't _want_ to take Emma's place, not in Kimmy's heart…" She stopped, not sure of how to go on. She turned her gaze away from the girl and looked into his eyes. "Or yours."

He stood silently for a moment, his demeanor calm, accepting. His hand released hers, and moved to the nape of her neck, drawing her towards him. She turned to lay her face against his shoulder and was a moment away from releasing a sigh when he spoke.

"Daria, I don't think it's a black or white kinda thing." He stroked her hair softly, gently. It was her turn to wait for him to go on.

"Being with her felt like I was with you. I'm not sure exactly what I mean by that- you know how her past was kind of odd, like it was like a fog? Why I didn't think too much about that? It was because it felt like it was supposed to happen the way it did, and that eventually things would all work themselves out."

She put her arms around his waist and pulled him closer still.

He went on. "You know how I didn't say 'in the end' things would work out? We're not at the end. Maybe there never _is_ an end."

* * *

The beach they were camping on was called _P_ _ō_ _lihale._ It was at the end of the road-no, it was _past_ the end of the road- they had taken a rough dirt road to get there- on the opposite side of the island from where they lived.

Kauai could not be circumnavigated by car, because the Na Pali cliffs on the northern perimeter were impassable. They lived on the wetter windward side, where the winds came from over the ocean and dropped much of their moisture. This was the leeward side, the dry side of the island.

They were settled in at the south end of the beach park, near the area called Queen's Pond. It was okay to swim in the area, even though just a little farther north was an open ocean beach with the sand dropping off suddenly not too far off shore. Miles of broad sandy beach ran north towards the ridge beyond which lay the hidden Kalalau Valley.

Mits had brought plenty of firewood, some of which were the bigger chunks of guava that he and Trent had cleared after the last storm. Added to that were cut up construction lumber- more than enough for the evening's fire. Noticing that some of the tents farther away showed signs of long term use, they had brought the extra wood over to them. Some of the campers were living on the beach, apparently.

Kuulei's older brothers, Jason and Darryl, were starving, having just gotten out of the water not all that long ago. The surf wasn't that great in the evening; it would be a lot better in the morning according to the charts.

Mavis chased the boys away from the coolers. "If you two lolos wanna eat, go help your dad with the grill. The meat's in that blue cooler by the van."

Jason grumbled as he and his brother grabbed a handful of chips each and headed over to the big 4X4 van. Finding the right cooler, they lugged the food over to their father. Both boys cast an appreciative gaze at the their sister's cute friend before being swatted on the head by an amused Mits.

"Better watch out. Her _h_ _ā_ _nai1_ mom going fix you boys good," he chuckled. "You no like piss her off unless you wanna get your _okoles_ 2 rearranged."

* * *

Soon the grilled chicken and fish was ready, and portioned out on plates. Somehow food just tasted better grilled on the beach in the company of friends. It was magical somehow- even Daria's potato salad was great, unless she'd actually gotten better at cooking. Maybe the time spent in Mavis's kitchen had rubbed off on her.

The kids wanted a campfire, so Jason, being the oldest, soon put the others to work. Not long after, marshmallows were being ruined and eaten anyway.

Trent pulled out his beater acoustic and began playing some of the tunes he had learned from one of the Elders he had recorded in the field.

"Eh Brah," came a voice out of the darkness. A couple of other campers appeared, one with a tenor ukulele and another with another guitar. "What kine tuning you stay playing?" the guitar guy said.

"Thanks for the firewood," the ukulele guy said, holding out a six-pack of beer.

Trent motioned for them to join them, and began to show them the slack key tuning on his guitar. He started in with the vamp that an old man had showed him.

"Hoo, Brah, old school, yeah?" Squeaky, the guitar player laughed as he nodded to the tempo. He began to tap out the rhythm on the belly of his instrument.

"Fo' real, Uncle Eddie used to play that tuning, I tink," smiled Manu, the ukulele guy. They picked up on the melodic line that Trent was improvising, and they took turns with the lead.

They all laughed as they brought the tune home.

Mits smiled, noting the ethnic diversity around the fire. "Eh, you guys know the song _Lai Toodle?"_

Manu laughed. "Da one da _Sons of Hawaii_ wen sing? Shua ting, Brah!"

It made Daria smile. It was an odd song; gently poking fun at the racist attitudes that fell into place in the time of the sugar plantations, when the first immigrant laborers worked for a dollar a day cutting and hauling sugar cane in the tropic heat while the Caucasian _Luna,_ the foremen, lorded it over them on horseback.

 _No can help, just how it is,_ the song was saying. She found herself singing along:

 _Here comes that sanakapichi bossy_

 _He rides on a big white horsie_

 _He too muchee pekupeku ke la Pilipino_

 _Ke la Pilipino hapai k_ _ō_ _._

 _Lai toodle, lai toodle, lai_ _ō_

 _Lai toodle, lai toodle, lai_ _ō_

 _He too muchee pekupeku ke la Pilipino_

 _Ke la Pilipino hapai k_ _ō_ _._

She hoped that none of her students felt this way about her. She knew she demanded a lot from them, but they seemed to understand that she was simply recognizing their talent and challenging them to meet their potential. Perhaps it was the Asian cultural influence, where teaching was a greatly honored profession.

It was well past midnight when the fun wound down and people made their way to tents. Kimmy and Kuulei had been sitting with the boys telling each other ghost stories and freaking each other out, and the two girls were huddling in their tent, a light still on. The two boys laid their sleeping bags in the empty trailer behind the van, too lazy to put up their tent.

In the closeness of the night, Daria listened to the surf breaking on the sand in the darkness and Trent's soft snoring. She put her arm over him and closed her eyes. He smelled good, like toothpaste and barbecue and _guava_ wood smoke.

* * *

"Got sand in my butt crack," reported Darryl over breakfast. The girls responded by throwing their garbage at him.

"Thank you for sharing," Kimmy snickered. "Other than that, the surf looked pretty good this morning."

"Was _choice,"_ nodded Jason. "Hey, Auntie Daria, get surf Mainland? Where you no need wetsuit?" He was heading off for college in the fall, and would miss the warm oceans of home.

"Eh, how many times I tell you, no talk laidat!" Mavis scolded, almost serious. "They going tink you retarded on the mainland!"

"Well, excuuuuse me," Jason sassed. "Let me rephrase that. Aunt Daria, is there anywhere on the mainland where the surf won't freeze your genitals off without an inch of insulation?"

Kimmy and Kuulei did a poor job of holding in their snarfing.

Daria cracked a smile. "Not where you're going, Jason. You might start training by putting ice cubes in your shorts."

"Oh, pooor thing," Mavis laughed. "Maybe you'll have to study instead."

"I'd leave the board at home," Trent smiled.

"Bummahs," Jason sighed. After a moment, he joined in the laughter.

Darryl smiled. "At least got cute Haole girls on da Mainland, like Auntie Daria."

* * *

Kimmy fell asleep on the long drive back home. Daria smiled as the girl's weight shifted against her. She rolled up a towel and positioned it on the girl's shoulder so that she wouldn't get a sore neck later; reaching up she moved the long black hair over the makeshift pillow. Daria noticed Kimmy's reflection in the window on the other side.

Perhaps it was the blending of the Asian with the Caucasian. There was an ambiguity there that granted liberty to the light that fell on her; sometimes she saw a curve to the jaw or the lip or the finger that seemed to speak of folded lifetimes. Kimmy was her own person, and yet connections still mysterious flickered and shimmered in moments of distraction. In local parlance, Kimmy was a _Hapa_ girl, of Eurasian ethnicity. She was growing up a rare beauty, Daria thought proudly. That beauty came from within, as well.

"Funny thing, the beach name _P_ _ō_ _lihale,"_ Mits said out of nowhere. "I heard that the translation for that is ' _House Bosom,'_ so it kind of refers to a place that's the source of life. But the word _'Po'_ also is the afterlife, and some people say that there's an old _Heiau_ 3 in the area that souls travel to before they climb the cliffs to the north where they jump off this world and into the ocean that leads to the afterlife."

Mavis nodded, yawning. "The old Hawaiians say that there's a place on every island where souls go to jump off."

"Lots of stories," Trent mused. "They need to be saved."

They fell into a quiet time as they drove on home.

Daria settled back into her seat, thinking.

* * *

1 Hawaiian term meaning adoptive, regardless of age

2 _butts_

3 Ancient Hawaiian temple. One is advised not to fool around in such places, and to leave the rocks alone. Eh, I talking to you, stupidhead.

added note: surfing on Kauai is not suggested for visitors. Kauai beaches are notoriously dangerous because of rip currents, and locals are very careful about where they enter the water. Truthfully Polihale is not a great area for surfing unless you are intimately familiar with the area. To clarify the area called _Queen's Pond_ is a shallow area protected by a reef and is NOT to be confused with _Queen's Bath_ (actually nearer to where Daria, Kimmy and Trent live in this story). Queen's bath is not a beach but a rocky pool that has killed many people when the seas are rough.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Hana Hou 2**_

 _ **Chapt. 4**_

 _She'd long since grown accustomed to the way she would sometimes hear fragments of sound that spoke of smiles and laughter and sadness. They drifted down from the dry rustle of bamboo leaves and the hollow resonance of the culms when they happened to bump together. Layered behind those sounds were the quiet hiss of moving air and the grain of birdsong and insects._

 _The illusion of distant words was an artifact of the way the mind would seek order from chaos, the way that in twilight one sometimes saw human shapes among the shadows in the sweep of vegetation that surrounded the home. The limbic awareness was exquisitely responsive to such cues in times of solitude._

 _It was something that had become normal to her as she sat outside at the table, drinking her morning coffee. She'd not seen Emma these days except in dreams, and even those had been reassuring and calming at times of stress._

 _Scattered conversations with people that once upon a time were strangers to her began to illustrate something she had sensed as she found her home here. This place was a place of meeting across cultures and time; aspects of humanity would meet and sometimes touch, sometimes not. Like the food and the music and the fragments of ancient languages all revealed, there were no absolutes to be found here._

 _Even in the stories of the supernatural- something she found herself being drawn to - there was a curious crossing of traditions. These were stories that were woven from truths and illusions. Perhaps it was the way they were told, blurring and subtly reforming, because each retelling could not help but to take on a bit of the tint of the teller._

* * *

"Really? I can go with you?" Kimmy was smiling, ear to ear. Sure, she would be missing a day of school, but the chance to see Daria on stage was exciting. She had been invited to be a featured speaker at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, part of a series of evenings with writers and poets.

"Sure, kiddo, you might learn something," Daria smirked. "Thought you might like a chance to look around the campus. You'll be going to college in a few years, and the UH is a pretty good place for you to start. I know you don't want to go to the Mainland for school, but who knows. You _might_ change your mind."

Kimmy sighed. "Yeah, I guess." The only option close to home was the Community College in Lihue, and that wouldn't be more than a year or two before she ran out of interesting coursework. Even though the UH was on the island of Oahu, only a thirty-five minute flight away, she'd be living away from her home. She knew that growing up meant leaving her comfort zone, but that was something she'd be happy to put off as long as possible. After all, she had known Daria for such a short time.

Still, Daria had made it clear that she thought Kimmy had talent. She'd been part of her writing workshops from the beginning, and it was entirely on her own merits. The final selection for participation for every group was made by Carla Fernandez, and there was no question among the Language Arts instructors that Kimmy Lane was a remarkable young writer.

Indeed, having the classes run by her adoptive mom had made things challenging for her. Daria didn't hesitate to hold her to a higher standard, and Kimmy knew that this would make her stronger even if it felt unfair at times. Each session concluded with a public reading of the best works, and she had been included in every one.

Kimmy knew that she was expected to acknowledge the talents she had and to do something with them.

* * *

"Have a good flight, girls," Trent gave hugs to them just before they passed through the security check into the gate area. Jane had invited herself along, eager for the change of scenery. Besides, she had some friends in the art community who had been deprived of her presence. They would make a weekend of it.

Daria had a few academic sessions before the reading, something she was looking forward to. Kimmy was pleased to be turned over to one of the younger graduate students for a chance to hang out with a younger, cooler crowd; Jane had swiped the rental car for a quick trip to the Contemporary Art Institute. She and Daria would meet up in the late afternoon and grab something light to eat.

One meeting in particular was quite interesting. Although it was short, only twenty minutes, she left the small conference room unable to suppress a smile.

Originally, the University of Hawaii was a modest Farm Grant College, but that was years ago. As an academic institute, there was a tendency to not take it quite that seriously- after all, it was in Hawaii. Wouldn't that make it something like the ultimate party school? Still, the University was now considered something of an academic and cultural epicenter. It was not surprising that President Obama had spent much of his childhood hanging out at the East-West Center on this campus.

This prominence had not been achieved overnight; it had been carefully nurtured. There was no ignoring the attraction of an invitation to Hawaii, and such opportunities offered to accomplished individuals were prized. Distinguished Poets and Writers in Residence had included Robert Bly, Galway Kinnell, and many more over the years. Such an invitation included a stipend and living arrangements, usually a cottage or private home courtesy of an affluent benefactor's largess.

And _she_ had been offered such an opportunity. The University was flexible about it; they had offered a window of years, should she wish to start when Kimmy began her freshman year at college.

Kimmy could do a lot worse than this place, Daria had to admit, but she knew that one of the downsides was the girl not challenging herself. It was perhaps too close to home, too comfortable.

Perhaps there was nothing wrong with that. Many of the good people that she had come to like and respect had never left the islands. Still, a writer needed to grow in experience before her voice could mature.

* * *

The formalities done, Daria was free to explore her own interests, and headed for the Hamilton Graduate Research Library. She knew that the University had a curious repository of oral histories and stories; a few scholars had actually studied the blending of supernatural traditions. She was pleased to quickly find two Doctoral dissertations that dealt with that curious intermarriage.

And why not? The people that for whatever reason found themselves neighbors had supernatural cosmologies embedded in their cultures. Indeed, it was something of a revelation to discover a study of Shamanistic traditions that had accompanied each cultural wave that made way to these shores. These were belief systems that existed in parallel with more mainstream and prominent religions.

The Portuguese, for example, had been accompanied by their faith healers. The Japanese Shinto practitioners too brought their own truths. All of these immigrants did; and the newcomers had arrived in a place that held its own beliefs close. Somehow they managed a kind of coexistence.

Still, they mixed at times. It was unavoidable. Tales of encounters with the Hawaiian _Night Marchers_ by non-natives were common; and then there was that odd case of _Inugami_ possession of a Portuguese woman in 1940.1 That one was pretty extensively documented by the papers and even in correspondence with higher religious authorities in both the Shinto and Catholic Churches.

There was a _lot_ of material here. Too much to even begin to dig in; she would make some contacts and begin to map out the resources later. A few inter-island flights were definitely in her future.

Kimmy was more important right now. She and Jane were gonna show her a good time. There was a whole world waiting for the young woman outside the little paradise she lived in now; she could always return home, and would do so with a deeper appreciation for it.

It was for her own good, right?

* * *

1 These and others were collected in the _Obake Files,_ by the late historian Glen Grant. He had sifted through newspaper clippings, interviewed and recorded locals of every ethnic group.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Hana Hou**_

 _ **Chapt. 5**_

 _Where did you come from, really?_

 _Daria leaned against the girl's bedroom doorframe as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Moonlight streamed through the thin white curtain, outlining Kimmy as she slept, turned away from the door. Some of the light was reflected from the fabric and made the wall and windowframe ripple a bit as light breezes pushed through the curtain into the room. Kimmy was a rim lit silhouette looking like nothing less than an angel fallen to earth._

 _I shouldn't ask, I know. That would only open doors that I know in my heart should never be opened. You are my test of faith, for want of a better term._

 _I've learned a lot from you. And we- you, of course, and your dad, Jane and surprisingly even I- have learned acceptance. A suspension of disbelief, the way we sit in the darkness of a theater and allow ourselves to be taken up in a magical tale being played out on the stage in front of us._

 _You are…you. Kimmy, my love, my magical daughter. I don't think I want to explore that rationally. When I do I sense forces that would slip free and shatter this joy into dust. You are proof that there is something greater, and it is in balance, and it is something good._

 _Even if our judgment is irrelevant._

* * *

"A year, typically," Daria said carefully, sliding his mug across the table. She studied his face, gaging his reaction. "If I started when Kimmy did, she could stay with me, if she didn't want to live in a dorm. Although, it would help her grow to live on her own. That's part of the College experience, after all."

His eyes revealed nothing.

 _I want him to ask on his own. I don't want to push him into anything, but still- I don't want to move away from him, not when it's taken such a trial to be back with him again. He could stay with me, maybe at least a few times a month, and I could fly home-_

 _And what about Jane? Would she stay behind? Would she want to? What if-_

 _Do I really want to do this? I'm putting my own interests before his again, after all these years. What did I learn, anyway?_

"It's a couple years away, right? I could start looking for something on Oahu, if you wouldn't mind my-" he stopped _._

 _She'd long ago stopped walling him off, but did she want to have some time away from him? She had always liked solitude; she never protested when he followed her to the table out back, but he knew that she enjoyed sitting alone and thinking. Sometimes he couldn't help himself, and they would sit together sometimes in long stretches of companionable silence, listening to the sounds around them._

 _Eventually he noticed that sometimes he awoke with her arm over him, her eyes bright and her skin just a bit cooler than his. He could smell the scent of flowers and coffee already brewed and realized that she had needed a moment to herself._

 _She'd worked it out, and had done so with grace. Sometimes he awoke to find her lips on his._

 _He understood that need; it was part of her creative process. She needed quiet to listen, perhaps to work out the meaning behind not-quite-random events, or the fears and wishes of her own heart. It didn't mean that she was pushing him away._

 _It wouldn't be hard to find a gig on Oahu. It was where things were happening, although at a faster pace than he had become accustomed to._

He stood, and she took his hand for a moment before wrapping her arms around his waist. "Congratulations, Daria. It's an honor you earned, and it'll be good for you. We'll work it out."

He felt her hug harder, her small frame relaxing a bit at the same time.

"Thank you," she sniffed, unintentionally wiping her nose on his shirt.

* * *

"Wait, what?"

Jane couldn't hold it in any longer. If she kept it up she'd explode. Or at the very least, fart. She had to wait, though, to see if Daria and Trent would work it out.

"I got an invitation too, Amiga. Same deal. Artist in Residence, I get to choose when. I think those people are talking to each other."

"God, I'll never get rid of you, will I?" Daria smirked. A moment later, her tone became serious. "What about our classes here?"

"I think I can find a substitute for me. I know a couple of ex-BFACtoids that would fight each other to the death for a chance to camp out for a year in my humble abode."

"Hmm. Not a bad idea. Maybe my Agent or Editor could find someone to sub for me."

* * *

She closed the folder of student stories and set it on one of the mismatched studio chairs, tossing the dying red ballpoint pen into the trash.

"Jane, do you know where Kimmy might have seen a mechanical clock? You know, the old fashioned kind that had gears and springs?"

"Huh?"

"Just wondering. One of her stories references the concept of an escapement, a clockwork principle. It's the gating mechanism that controls the forces that move the hands. It's kind of an old thing, one of those metaphors that used to be like a literary weed, always popping up. These days, though, not so much."

"Like hourglasses, even though most of us haven't actually seen one, except for maybe an old egg timer or a computer icon."

"Yeah. It's a common thing, but she'd used it at a level of detail that's unusual."

"So?" Jane frowned at the color she'd come up with. Picking up another tube, she cut a tiny amount onto the horizontal glass plate that was her palette. With a thin knife she mixed it into a dab of paint, working intuitively. "Probably found something on the internet."

"Seems unlikely that a teen would have the slightest interest in horological minutiae."

"Speak English."

"Clock stuff." She frowned at the studio ceiling. "Ew. You got a lot of spiderwebs up there, you know that?"

"You have my permission to clean my ceiling if it brings you joy," Jane mumbled around the paintbrush she was holding in her teeth. "While you're at it clean the toilet too."

"I'm just saying that she dropped into the metaphor a bit deeper than usual. Not only was she referring to a mechanism that most people don't know about, she was referencing the hairspring that operates the balance wheel. Its part of a mechanical oscillator that made portable timepieces possible."

"That Death guy carries around an hourglass. That's portable."

"Death's hourglass is a symbol, not a metaphor. Anyway, stuff like this keeps showing up in her work. It's why her freshman Language Arts instructor thought she might have been copying off the internet at first. There's a kind of- well, _maturity_ to her work that's a little strange."

Jane sighed, rolling her eyes. _"Whatevahs. I no kea."_

Daria snorted. Jane's pidgen English had gotten so good that it sometimes discombobulated her. She sounded like Mavis, nailing the inflection perfectly.

 _Don't go there, just… don't,_ Jane was saying. The meaning was clear in her body language and tone of voice.

Daria caught her best friend's eye. "Kay den." _You're right; I know._

Jane smiled. "You don't sound like an FOB Haole girl any more, you know."

"Thanks, I think." Daria hauled her butt off Jane's studio couch. "Let's go see if Kimmy's up for a drive. I want pizza."

* * *

Kimmy laughed, glad that she had avoided blowing soda out her nose. "Wait, so Death is seeing a Psychiatrist because he has an inferiority complex?" _Where does she come up with these ideas?_

Daria nodded. "Because Man has gotten so good at destroying creation. His last performance review was pretty bad. He might lose his job."

"And he drives a crappy rusty car?"

Daria and Jane both answered in unison. "A Pinto." Kimmy could have sworn that they were being serious.

Jane sighed theatrically. "Bastards at the bank repossessed his hearse."

Daria leaned in. "And he lives in a crappy apartment where everything is broken, except for the TV. And he has dial-up, reaaaally slow internet."

"So he lives on warm beer?" Jane giggled, eyeing her own bottle on the table.

"Pretty much." Daria picked at the olives on the half eaten slice on her plate.

Jane considered the last slice of pizza, and then slid it over to Kimmy. _Wish I still had a teenager's metabolism._ "Wait, I thought Death was a walking skeleton. No stomach."

"That's an old medieval cliché. _This_ death looks like your Uncle Max."

"You never met my Uncle Max."

"You know what I mean. He looks like a regular guy, so he can sneak up on people."

"So no cloak, scythe, or hourglass?"

"Looks like anybody you'd see on the sidewalk, okay?"

Kimmy paused for air, halfway through the slice. "No cable. And his goldfish keep dying."

Jane began scribbling on a napkin.

Daria nodded solemnly as she transferred her pizza to Kimmy's plate. "He tried spreading a fatal STD but didn't get very far."

Jane held up a sketch of a seedy old guy. "Not if he looks like my _Uncle Max."_

Kimmy looked at the two older women. "You two are nuts."

They all broke into hysterical laughter. Jane earned a dirty look from the tourist sitting two tables away that she had been sketching.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hana Hou**_

 _ **Chapt. 6**_

 _ **Life's But a Walking Shadow**_

 _When we are gone, what then? Kimmy will remember us, and after that… Trent told me that was why he'd begun his archiving project, to create something of a repository for the less famous musicians he knows._

 _All of us- Jane, Trent and I- will leave a body of work behind. Kimmy too, in her own time and her own way- she will go on to do great things, I'm certain of that, and she herself is a legacy of two wonderful people that lived on this planet for a short while. Even a little of me, because by some whim of fate our lives have become intertwined. So for a little while, we will be remembered, as long as our labors are seen, heard and read, and the others that have known us live._

 _But beyond that-in this time of seemingly limitless machine memory, the sheer volume of work that can be preserved has raised the oceans of legacy to an unimaginable volume. With such a cacophony of voices, who will be heard?_

 _In time, the tools needed to understand- context, and for that matter even the nuances of language- will vanish, and we will go with it._

 _So it must go, or so it seems._

* * *

"Okay guys, listen up." Daria waited until the kids had settled in for the session. "As you all have probably heard by now, I had a chance to meet with a lot of people from the literary community-such as it is- affiliated with the University of Hawaii at Manoa. I said 'such as it is' not out of any disrespect or in any way in judgment of that community simply because creative writers tend to be an independent, difficult group."

A wave of good natured laughing rippled through the students, with fingers pointing in all directions.

"Funny," their instructor deadpanned. The kids laughed again. Daria never understood why her students all thought she was funny. She'd gotten used to being seen as humorless, growing up; only Jane and Trent seemed to appreciate her sense of humor.

"Anyway, I wanted to announce that the University Press of Hawaii will be publishing an anthology of your best work in book form, going back to the beginning of this special program. I have been asked to provide annotation and editorial content, and the collection is intended for academic distribution."

A noisy arglebargle arose. _They were going to be published!_

"Waitwaitwait." Daria held up both hands. "Now before you get too excited, it's not something that you'll be able to by at a bookstore, not that there are very many of those left. This is intended for distribution into the academic world. You will each receive two copies from the University Press and may purchase additional copies at a substantial discount. An anonymous donor has agreed to provide matching funds to help lower the cost to you.

"However, there's still another publication coming up. _Bamboo Ridge_ is Hawaii's literary journal, and you've all seen the copies around the classroom. They are going to be publishing a special collection of carefully selected work that this program has produced. That means that they will choose up to thirty pieces, so unfortunately not everyone will be included.

"However, they will be putting the complete works of these classes online, with your permission. Each of you will be asked for your approval for your work to be included. You need to sign these forms, and you need to take them home for your parents or guardian to sign. Now, before you ask, there's no money involved here. It's considered an honor to be a writer to be so included, and it will be an excellent addition to your college applications and resumes."

She paused as an excited chatter took over momentarily. She waited it out.

"Let me put this in terms that may be more familiar to you. You know that trophy case near the Principal's office? The one with all the sports trophies and ribbons? This is the same thing. You guys have won a very significant honor for this school. In fact, more people will hear about this than will ever care about our local football games.

"The school will be placing a copy of the University Press Anthology into the trophy case, and each of you will be asked to sign your name in this copy.

"People around the world and across time will have access to your art, and I am damn proud of you all."

* * *

"You know, we should go visit the bookstore," Trent said thoughtfully as he and Kimmy scooped the small black seeds out of papayas from the yard.

"Oooh, that mean cat bit me," Kimmy smiled. "She was cute, though."

Trent laughed. "Well, Cynthia did warn you that you shouldn't touch her belly."

"Where did you get this hippie bread?" Daria frowned, wondering if there was anything in it that Kimmy shouldn't eat…yet. The toast it made looked a little strange, packed as it was with grains that Daria wasn't sure she could name.

"Elaine from the cafeteria. Her mom makes it by hand. I think there's birdseed in it, but you're right. It's Holistic Sproutarian bread." Jane smirked, taking the last of the coffee. "Good, though, if you put bananas and bacon on it." She dumped the grounds into the bin that would be taken to the composter.

"You know, I need to go visit a couple of the galleries in Hanapepe. Some of my pretty stuff has been selling, and we can pick up some coffee along the way home." She scowled as she considered the near empty bag of coffee beans from the freezer. _Damn stuff is expensive, but it's good. We're so boring that we get excited about coffee._

"Sounds like a plan," Daria agreed. _I wonder if they still have that book I was looking at._ "Kimmy, do you have plans for today? All your schoolwork is done, right?"

"Like you would let me slack off?" the teenager sassed good naturedly. "Can I ask Kuulei if she wants to go?"

* * *

"Whoo, _catch thrills,_ yeah?" Kuulei giggled as she jumped into the car. "Alright! We going to da bookstore!"

"So _boring_ around here," Kimmy agreed. "Nothing to do except homework, reading, making trouble for my folks, and chasing those stupid chickens around."

Daria glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed the impish smiles. "Right. And don't forget going to the beach all the time, hanging out with your friends, surfing the net, and otherwise clogging your hard drives with crap."

"Yeah, life's so tough here," Jane snickered. "No friends, lousy sunshine, and nothing to eat except boring food from around the Pacific Rim and Portugal and-"

"You guys had a pizza joint on the way home from your school," Kimmy pointed out.

"There was that," Daria conceded. "You know, if you like, I could cook one of those chickens for you girls every day after school."

"No you can't," Kuulei giggled. "They're an endangered species. Only like three million left on Kauai."

Everyone laughed. Backyard chicken coops had been blown over during the last major hurricanes years ago, liberating the inmates. With no natural predators for the ground nesting birds, they had quickly gone feral and began breeding like mad. Now they were small brown chickens everywhere.

"Your dad and I tried to cook one a couple of years ago," Trent laughed. "Even Mits couldn't make it edible."

"You ran it over," Jane pointed out.

"Should have tenderized it a bit, right? It was like eating stewed rubber bands."

"I thought you said that about octopus," Daria smirked.

"Only when _I_ try preparing it," Trent admitted. "Mits says I cook it too long. No, this chicken was tougher than octopus."

"Are you guys trying to save money on lunch or something?" Kimmy laughed from the back seat. "That's just gross."

"My brother Jason told me how you're supposed to do it," Kuulei offered. "First you take a chicken and a rock, and you put it in a pot and boil until the rock gets tender. Then you throw away the chicken and then eat the rock."

"That's off a tourist t-shirt, liar," Kimmy laughed.

"Sue me," Kuulei said, mock insulted.

* * *

"They'll ruin their lunch," Daria grumbled, watching the girls take off for a _shave ice_ store.

"I'll guarantee that when they come looking for us at the bookstore, they'll be ready for real food," Trent smiled.

"Teenagers," Jane grinned, wrapped paintings in her arms. "See you in a bit, you two." She headed off for a small gallery down the sidewalk.

"Guess I can see why those paintings sell," Daria admitted. "Years ago she'd call it selling out. But then, I do the same thing with my romance novels."

"Eh, it's a living," Trent shrugged. "Gotta eat."

"Yup." They turned and headed for the other end of the main drag.

Hanapepe was a quiet little town, in the middle of what was once prime sugar cane land. Years ago the population was mostly Filipino, Japanese, Chinese and other ethnic labor groups, but these days the mainland refugees like the Morgendorffer-Lanes had begun to take it over. That, and the steady flow of tourists had changed the mix of hair color in the community. It used to be predominantly Asian black hair, but now it had far more diversity.

 _Hapa_ kids like Kimmy were not at all uncommon. Intermarriage across ethnic lines demonstrated that culture counted for more than race, and the faces that Daria saw every day were beautiful to her.

Lawndale seemed like a lifetime away sometimes.

Five minutes later they pushed through the doors of the _Talk Story Bookstore,_ which was acknowledged as being the westernmost bookstore in the United States.

"Hey, Daria," greeted Ed, one of the owners. "Got some of your real books for you to sign. Celeste has been keeping them from walking away."

The old cat reluctantly moved when Daria slid a volume out from under her. She scanned the slip of paper tucked in the pages for the owner's name and began writing a line thanking the reader, and then signed it. She worked through the stack until her hand began to cramp a bit. She reached over and scratched Celeste behind her ear.

"Ed, do you still have a copy of that _Taylor Camp_ book? The one about the 70's Kauai Hippie Community?"

"A few," he reported, looking up from his computer screen. "One used, and a couple new ones."

"You make more on the new or used copies?"

"In this case, the used one will give me a better margin," he admitted. "Kind of a special book. People either are interested in it or could care less. The used copy is in really good shape."

"I'll take it, and a new one as well. I want to send one to my Mom for her birthday."

Ed laughed. "Your lawyer mom was a hippie?"

"And my dad. How do you think they came up with the names 'Daria' and 'Quinn?'"

She raised an eyebrow as she noticed the books a customer was putting on the counter. Most were racy, bodice-ripper romances, and she recognized at least half of the titles as her own.

Waiting until the woman left the store, she relaxed a bit.

"If you tell anyone I am never coming back here," she promised.

"Jeez, don't be so sensitive. Maureen says they're pretty classy for being trashy novels." He laughed. "And don't growl at me, lady."

 **A/N: Real bookstore. Real cat too. ( _I neva change da names cuz, eh, free advertising, yeah? Plus, I neva say anyting bad about da store. Eh, I no lie. Da store choice, brah.)_**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Hana Hou**_

 _ **Chapt. 7**_

 _ **Past and Future**_

She looked down towards the tiny cove, and even in the bright, early afternoon light the scene was surreal. The girls walked along the water's edge, occasionally stopping to pick up a bit of driftglass that had caught their eye. The whole beach was made of frosted, water-worn bits of glass, unintentional products of a dump that had been since covered over with soil and vegetation. Years ago the ocean had begun to cut into the accumulation of trash; things made of glass had been pulverized and transformed into the strange, beautiful beach.

Not that it was all intrinsically pretty stuff. The south edge was an accidental sculptural garden of salt-eroded industrial junk; engine blocks, iron forgings, steel wheels and other unrecognizable metal objects were caught in mid-transformation; fused into each other and embedded into dark stone as they returned to the earth as before they were shaped by man. Of course, Jane was busy photographing the art that she was finding.

 _The old woman she had met had told her of this place when she had learned that Daria was a writer._

 _"It's just a few miles away. You're going back to Hanalei? As soon as you hit the main road, you'd be turning left. But if you go straight, you'll be heading to the port, and you turn left right behind the power plant. Park where the paved road ends, and walk in. It's not far at all. If you go there, what you will see depends on what is inside you. Some see sadness, some joy. It's easy to see little ugly parts, but there is a deeper beauty there that will more than make up for it."_

She had begun to walk up the rutted dirt road that climbed to higher ground towards the south, and began to see westward-facing stones standing amid the overgrown vegetation. It was a cemetery, first seeing use in the late 1800's and holding some of the first remains of immigrant laborers that had come dreaming of a better life. Most had believed that a few years of backbreaking labor in the cane fields would allow them to return home with the means to build better lives for themselves and their families.

For most of them, that had been nothing but an illusion.

Many of these stones bore carved passages in a form indecipherable to her. They stood in the bright tropical sun, facing the lands across the Pacific that they had once longed to return to.

Moving further up the hill revealed the respectful efforts of good people to clear the brush away, affording the now anonymous graves some dignity. The cemetery had been abandoned for years, the trust organization members originally responsible for its upkeep having passed on themselves. No doubt some of the graves had been exhumed and remains moved to prettier, more maintained sites inland, but the ones left behind had simply been forgotten. No one was left to care for the graves, and no one was left to remember the people they had once been.

And yet, here, more than a hundred years later, she found a strange sense of peace. These lives had witnessed terrible things; for the Japanese among the graves here they had been oddly fortunate to have passed before the events leading to the Second World War. Even by then the graves had begun to slide into obscurity; the cultural guilt and suppression that followed the attack on Pearl Harbor had perhaps contributed to the growing shadows of brush and grass.

It was the failing of memory that had broken the bonds to the living, and in the drifting away came the peace. The lives these graves bore witness to no longer mattered to anyone.

There was something obscene about the proximity of a garbage dump so close to the cemetery, although it wasn't her place to judge. Perhaps the site had been much farther away in the past, only being forced further inland as the ocean ate away at the shoreline.

The port nearby to the north had been a modest one when the cemetery had first been established; it was the economic lifeline for the island, where the sugar was shipped off and the goods and fuel for life was unloaded. The rip currents running along the shore were disturbed as the port grew, and the shoreline began to change.

As the rest of the world progressed and moved on the little cemetery lay forgotten. There was a sad irony in the choice of sites in the first place; from where they had been laid to rest, a visitor could see the arrival and departure of ships.

From the thickness of the stumps between the graves, the site had been pretty much overgrown. Cleaning it up had required much more than mere weedwackers- chainsaws, from the look of things.

As she scanned the area, she noticed a small figure standing amid a shock of wild sugarcane growing along the eastern perimeter. She wasn't sure why, but she knew that the figure was female. Whoever she was, she was dressed in clothing clearly intended to provide protection from brush; A straw hat secured with a strip of fabric kept the sun at bay. In her hands was a curious tool- a triangular blade with a hook notched into the wider end; a simple handle of riveted wood covered the narrow end. Daria had seen these in the Kauai Museum; it was a cane knife. These were simple tools stamped from sheet steel; the wider blade provided the mass that made the cutting edge effective. The hook was used to pull the tall sugar cane stalks down towards the worker. The figure waved; Daria returned the gesture.

"There you are," Trent called out as he came up over the rise. "I heard something about this place, but I'd forgotten about it."

She shaded her eyes, noting the sun beginning to get noticeably lower. "I think forgotten pretty well describes this place."

They stood in silence, listening to the breezes moving through the scruffy grass and brush along the perimeter. Beyond the scrub, the blue of the Pacific sparkled in the distance, and the faint laughter of the girls drifted up to where they were.

She and Trent joined hands. Daria looked back towards the east, but the woman must have stepped away into the vegetation. Beyond that spot, fallow fields that once borne a century of sugarcane stretched into the distance, towards the mountains. There, they were lost in low waves of gray clouds.

They turned and began walking back to the cove.

* * *

"Oh man, I'm starving," laughed Kuulei, sniffing at the large cardboard box that held the plate lunches Trent had bought.

"We're stopping by the coffee plantation store," Jane smiled. "They have picnic tables outside. Touch my kimchi and you're dead, missy."

"Why?" Kuulei giggled. "Haole ladies like you not supposed to eat kimchi. You get bad breath from all the garlic."

"So?" Jane shot back. "How am I supposed to eat the Korean barbeque without kimchi?"

"Kyle likes garlic," Kimmy said seriously. "Women with bad breath are his thing."

"Watch it, girls," Jane said sweetly. "You two are gonna fall asleep on the drive home, and I have a brand new magic marker in my pocket."

The girls claimed a table while the adults entered the store to purchase two bags of coffee beans still warm from the roasters.

Daria watched in amusement as the two girls ate heartily. Somehow, her own appetite was somewhat absent, and she merely picked at her meal.

The oddly dark clouds stayed to her left as the car made its way south to Lihue, and then east back home. She glanced fondly at the snoozing siblings in the front next to her, and the two girls passed out in the back.

After the usual traffic snarl in the little town of Kapaa, the miles began to slip by more quickly. The cloud cover seemed lower than usual, and the afternoon began to darken into an early evening as she drove on.

 ** _A/N: Glass beach is real, and sadly so is the old cemetery._**


	8. Chapter 8

_**Hana Hou Pt. 2**_

 _ **Chapt. 8**_

 _ **Vox Humana**_

 _Dear Mom,_

 _I found this book at the best little bookstore on Kauai. Heck, it might be the only bookstore around here worthy of the title._ _Taylor Camp_ _was a hippie community not far from where we live today._

 _When I glanced through it, I thought of you and Dad. It made me smile to think that at one time, in her feckless youth, my own mother might have been such a free spirit as these colorful characters were, living life and making love in treehouses like happy monkeys and singing Kumbaya-ish tunes off-key with herbally induced smiles on unwashed faces._

 _I love you, Mom, and I shall demonstrate said affection by refraining from specifying exactly which birthday this little gift commemorates._

 _I know I was at times a great challenge for you and Dad. However, this book reminded me of what you probably put your own parents through, and so I shall excuse myself with the thought that what goes around comes around. Karmic payback, if you will._

 _Kimmy likes the book (I have my own copy) and wants to hear of your own youthful adventures, but I ask you to not give her any such ideas until she's a little older. I consider myself lucky that there are no stunt car drivers around these parts. She's such a sweet kid. She keeps hinting around that she would like a younger sibling and that she would be happy to help take care of him or her._

 _Who knows. I know that time for such things is going to be running out for me, and part of me is regretful that I did not have a child when he or she could have brought joy to Dad. Kimmy will be going off to college soon enough, so if something like that should happen, it would be Auntie Jane helping out._

 _Life has been so far resistant to planning. I would never have expected to find myself considering Kauai to be home, but it is. I'm still not sure what to do with my loft in Boston; as long as you or Quinn have use for it, I'll hold on to it. Who knows, perhaps Kimmy will go to college there. For now, it's good to have a place to go to when I visit you and Quinn's family._

 _Speaking of visits, we're all looking forward to seeing you here. Kimmy wants you to have her room and is planning to move into…are you sitting down? A freaking treehouse in the back yard. She got the idea from this book._

 _Little Miss Smartypants says you can stay in the treehouse if you want but I think the rope ladder she has planned might be a challenge for you. She plans to call it the Helen and Jacob Morgendorffer Center for the Meditative Arts._

 _Naturally Auntie Jane thinks it's a great idea and the two of them are scrounging wooden pallets for framing materials, and there's plenty of timber bamboo here. Hopefully it won't be too much of an eyesore because it'll be right outside the kitchen window._

 _Sorry for this rambling missive. Hope you have a very happy birthday. Give our love to Quinn and her family._

* * *

"So the Kauai Museum agreed to provide a home for my musical archiving project, and that led to a discussion of my helping to catalog and organize a recently donated collection of disc recordings from the estate of a westside television and radio repairman."

Jane poured coffee for her brother. "Disc recordings? You mean vinyl records, right?" She reached for another slice of birdseed toast.

Trent shook his head. "Not exactly. These aren't mass produced records like that. Before they had digital audio media, they had tape recorders like my old Nagra, and before that, wire recorders that recorded sound on a moving spool of magnetic wire. And before World War II, they had disc recorders that recorded onto aluminum discs coated in a layer of shellac. You could play them on regular record players but they were kind of fragile."

Daria spread homemade lilikoi jelly on her birdseed toast. "So this repairman recorded local musicians in the 1930's?"

"Musicians, some audio letters that were exchanged with people in California, a few special occasions. One was a song recorded for a group of boys who had enlisted in the US Army. Many of the recordings were left in the care of the gentleman who made them, since people felt that they were important. A few that were given to the people actually recorded turned up in other private collections, and the museum has found itself in possession of almost a hundred such discs."

Daria was fascinated. These would be a glimpse into a past world that was rarely documented in this way. "Are they in good condition?"

"Mostly," Trent nodded. "They're so easily broken that the recordist made flat wooden boxes for each disc, and included notes with each one. They don't have labels like regular records, and they have two holes- one in the middle, and another off to the side for a driving pin. So they look different, with a handwritten title in the middle. It's really kind of a treasure trove."

"So they want you to copy them as digital files and write a description of each? The way you did your own field recordings?" Jane asked.

"Yeah. They're offering an honorarium, and asking if I want to be the audio media curator. I could write a grant proposal for funding, and I could actually draw a salary."

"Do we need the money?" Daria asked.

"Not really, but it would give the work credibility and make it easier to get outside support. The museum agreed, and they gave me a budget to order the equipment needed to transcribe the recordings." Trent grinned. "I even have a couple of students from Kauai Community College lined up to actually do the transcriptions, since I don't want those discs to leave the museum. I'll review the files from home and set up a database linked to the recordings. There are several Docents at the museum that are fluent in Japanese, Ilocano and Tagalog, since many of the recordings are in those languages."

"You da _Man_ ," smirked Jane. "When the hell did you become a responsible adult?"

"I could help with the grant proposals," Daria offered.

"That would be cool," agreed Trent.

Jane got up to clear the dishes. "Don't limit yourself to audio recordings only. I know lots of people are recording oral histories on video. You could have a website where people could upload files, kind of like a cultural version of YouTube, or maybe something like a Wiki-museum."

Daria raised an eyebrow. "Damn good idea, Jane." _There are so many stories out there…I bet Studs Terkel would have approved._


	9. Chapter 9

_**Hana Hou Pt.2**_

 _ **Chapt. 9**_

 _ **A Visit to a Garden**_

Trent had to smile when he glanced out the kitchen window. "Hey, Daria,"

"Hm?"

"The treehouse looks pretty cool. I like the tie-dyed shades and the macramé planter things hanging underneath."

"Jane and Kimmy had a good time decorating it, that's for sure. There's a matching tie-dyed futon in there too."

"There's some kind of cable running down to it from the roof."

"Kyle put a solar panel up on the roof and ran the power line to the treehouse, so Kimmy can run her computer and Jane's lava lite in there."

"Is she at the beach with Kuulei?"

"Yeah. Jane's class picnic is today, remember? She and Kyle are there now too. We can go after I finish with these papers."

Turning away from the newly completed treehouse, Trent flashed her a roguish smile.

"Wanna play _monkey_ first?"

* * *

"Oh, Daaaaaaria," Jane called sweetly.

 _Damn._

 _"Daria and Trent, sitting in a tree, b-a-l-l-i-"_

"Shut _up,"_ Daria growled as best she could around a smile. She poked her head out the door. Thank God it was just Jane.

"Seriously, take it easy up there. You guys might break that branch," Jane laughed. "Maybe we should put a support under the floor. It wasn't supposed to hold up to that kind of abuse."

"Did you forget something?" Daria tried changing the subject.

"My camera." Jane grinned, bringing it up to her eye. "Smile, Amiga!"

"Stop that, you voyeur."

"What? You're not showing anything…well, bare shoulders, and… _Trent'sbarebuttbehindyou!"_

Daria turned to yell."Tren-!"

"Made you look!" Jane chimped her camera. "Oooh, got some boob in that one!"

"I can't believe I did that," Daria blushed.

"Kidding. Just more of your shoulder. Come on, you guys, finish up and get your butts to the beach."

* * *

Helen glanced over at her eldest as they drove north from the airport, the blue Pacific Ocean on their right. She missed seeing her, and the long intervals between their times together had made the changes in her daughter that much more evident.

Each time Daria seemed calmer, more elegant, and in ways difficult to pin down, wiser. The judgemental edge that had been so much of her character seemed muted, if not absent most of the time.

"This place seems to suit you, Sweetie," Helen murmured, the sweet ocean air tossing their hair. "It's incredibly beautiful here."

"Mom?" Kimmy called from the back seat. "Can we stop? I need to go to the bathroom."

"I could use a bathroom break myself," Helen agreed.

Daria scanned the roadside ahead, and pulled off into the parking lot of a small shopping area situated just before the descent into Hanalei valley. It would be a good half hour before they'd arrive at home.

They walked into a little restaurant with a patio. "I'll get a table. Kimmy, would you like a soda?"

"Sure. Thanks, Mom." She led Helen to the restrooms.

Daria ordered two colas and an appropriately touristy umbrella drink for her mother, as well as a few snacks. Dinner wasn't that far away, and Trent would be back from his studio session early enough to help with preparing the meal.

Helen arrived at the table before Kimmy did. "She's such a lovely girl," she said as she picked up her drink with a smile. "Thank you, Sweetie." She wiped off the stem of the little paper umbrella and slipped it into her purse. "I'm saving these for Quinn's girls."

Taking a sip of her Mai Tai, she tilted her head in the direction of the restrooms. "I like the way she calls you Mom. You two seem very close."

Daria smiled softly. "It just kind of happened over time. I told her she didn't have to do that, but it just started happening without either of us thinking too hard about it. Then she noticed herself doing that, and we both kind of smiled at each other, and it's just kind of normal for us now. She really is my daughter to me."

"So I'm not going to nag you about it or anything, but if you and Trent have a child you should think about getting married, if only for practical and bureaucratic reasons."

Helen waited for Daria's reaction- a slight and not entirely resigned nod. "You might want to do this before Kimiko turns eighteen, if you want to formally adopt her." After a moment, she smiled, waiting for Daria's answer.

"Whether or not I get pregnant, I'd like that so Kimmy knows exactly how I feel about her."

Daria looked up as the girl put her arms around her from behind. "I love you too, Mom. Just hurry up already, you're not getting any younger."

Helen couldn't help but to tear up a bit when she saw how Daria returned the girl's affection.

* * *

"Mom?" Kimmy was trying to suppress a laugh.

"Hm?"

"Gramma's in the treehouse. I think she's, like, _stoned."_

"WHAT?" Daria saved her file and managed to scatter a number of papers as she ran out the door.

 _"HELEN TEMPERANCE MORGENDORFFER, JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN THERE?"_

"Talking to your father, sweetie." A giggle was heard. "He says he's proud of everyone here, especially you."

"What's Daria yelling about?" Trent stuck his head out of the bedroom door, headphones around his neck.

Jane smirked. "I think she's reading her Mom the riot act for setting a bad example for her Granddaughter."

Kimmy giggled. "She's old. Mom should cut her some slack."

A few minutes later, Daria stalked back into the house. "Just because she's old she thinks she can get away with doing any damn thing she pleases," she muttered to herself.

Kimmy and Jane looked at each other, trying not to crack up.

"Mom, chill out," Kimmy managed to say calmly. "You don't have to worry about me like that. I know better than to partake while I live here. I can wait until after I'm in college to go nuts."

"Maybe I'll sell my loft even if you do go to school in Boston," Daria grumbled. "You are _not_ going to get wasted with your Grandma."

Kimmy gave Daria a reassuring little hug. "Don't worry. If I do wind up in the same town as Grandma I'll ground her if she does stupid stuff." She smiled. "I'll go check on her."

"Maybe I should put a couple of air mattresses under the ladder in case your mom falls out of the tree," Jane suggested.

Daria slapped herself on the forehead. "Dammit! Trent, help me get her out of there."

Kimmy stuck her head back into the kitchen. "Gramma's asleep, Mom." The girl handed Daria her phone. On the screen was a picture of Helen, out cold. There was a smile on her face, and in her fingers was a small photograph of Jake. "I'll take care of her."

Trent took Daria's hand as the girl walked out with a book, climbed into the treehouse and lay down next to her Grandmother.

* * *

"Mom, did you know Gramma talks in her sleep?"

"Hm?"

"It's true. If you ask her stuff she answers you."

Daria looked up from her computer. "You can ask her things when she's awake and aware of what she's saying."

"Now where's the fun in that?" Kimmy flashed an impish grin. "Did you really try to give Auntie Quinn to the mailman when you were three?"

"No, I was merely asking how much it would cost to mail her to Australia. I didn't have enough money in my piggy bank, as it turned out."

"Too bad they couldn't come with.

"Maybe later this summer. Or maybe you could go and visit."

"By myself?"

"Why not? It would be an adventure for you. Besides, plane tickets are kind of expensive." Daria saved her files and shut down her laptop. "That's why Auntie Quinn and her family didn't come. Too much money for four tickets, and we don't have the room to accommodate five more people."

"The girls could stay in the treehouse. It's fun out there. Auntie and Uncle could have my room."

"Where would you sleep?"

"There's the daybed, or in Auntie Jane's studio. I could put a sleeping bag out in her office area, 'cause she never uses it."

"Well, that would help with the cost, since they wouldn't have to get a hotel room," Daria agreed. "Maybe we can work something out."


End file.
